


Happiness is a State of Defiance

by hotsalsa



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 12:37:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8533378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotsalsa/pseuds/hotsalsa
Summary: "Taking the final turn needed to bring him in front of the world famous Valley Forge of George Washington, Alex slowed his pace until he was an immovable statue.  His posture was as carved as marble, his fingers once again anchored to his bag as they dug into the strap.  Alex surveyed the building’s brick outside.  He took in the bright green ivy vines that seemed to glow in the bright August light, the individual leaves rustling in the soft breeze that also caressed his hair as it brushed against his shoulders.  At the gentle brush, Alexander Hamilton drew his body to his full stature and drew in a deep breath."
-
or the one where Alexander Hamilton is an immigrant athlete competing with Lafayette, Laurens, and Mulligan for the retired Olympian, George Washington.





	

Alex gripped his bag, which rested upon his shoulder and reminds him of how little he actually has. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, could hear its sharp staccato in his ears. His head swam with the possibility of what he could do, who he could become, and what he could accomplish now that he was off of the Island. He gripped the bag tighter, almost crushing the threadbare strap before he gently released it and smoothed the creases over. As much as he hated to be reminded of Nevis, he never wanted to forget his mother, his brother, and the townspeople that helped him get where he is now. The irony of wanting to remember Nevis, the worst place in the world to Alex, was not lost to him. 

 

He let out a small sigh before sharply inhaling. Slowly, he drew in air, as if it would stop the trembling in his hands and the building panic in his chest. In, out. Alex tapped his fingers absently on the strap of his bag, running his index finger along a loose thread. In, out. He shoved his free hand, the one not securing his life across his shoulders, into his pocket. He shakily pulled out a wad of dollars, mixed in with paper scraps covered in ink. In, out. He ignored how the papers were a blurry mass of green and white. He ignored how the ink seemed to melt from the paper onto his fingers. In, out. He looked away from the glossy linoleum tiles and into the throng of people, all fighting to reach the streets of New York City. In, out. He took a step forward. In, out. He adjusted his bag. In, out. He pushed the door open. In, out. 

 

He stepped into the busy New York streets, knowing that he could be a new man. 

 

\--

 

After paying the driver (the price meticulously calculated before he boarded his plane), Alex stepped out of the taxi and into the bright daylight of the August summer. Quickly unfolding the checklist outlining everything that he needed to buy for his apartment, he set off in the direction of the closest second hand furniture store. The apartment he found was shared with another two people, who seemed rich but wanted to profit by renting out an extra room. While the rest of the apartment was obviously furnished, Alex still needed to by simple things for himself, such as a desk and lamp. 

 

Alex lost himself in the motions of negotiating a price for the items, as he was used to haggling for necessities in St. Croix. After all, gym fees and membership costs, in addition to training tuition, was not cheap. Alexander had to astound judges and committees to gain sponsorship, he had to write his way to acknowledgement, and then he had to deliver on his claims by rapidly advancing his level. Now he played for the United States and received a boarding pension. 

 

He promised to pick up the furniture up no later than a week from the current day and set off in the direction of New York’s best training gym. It was a little farther than a mile away, but Alex was tired of sitting and he could honestly use the exercise, as he had neglected himself in the flurry of packing and selling his old life to make his new one. He decided to use the time to let the thin air flow past him, not focusing on the impatient bodies surrounding him. He instead focused on his breathing, trying to calm his nerves by carefully placing each foot in front of the next. He forced himself to glance up every couple second to fully see, but otherwise used his peripheral vision to navigate the busy sidewalk. He also made himself relax the tightfisted grip to the strap of his bag when he realized how shifty he seemed with his ratty shoes, oversized clothes, and overused bag. At least he wasn’t muttering to himself-or at least he didn’t think that he was. From the disdainful glances directed at him, he might as well have. 

 

Alex could deal with the not-so-subtle looks from these snobbish people in New York. Their stares did not bother him; in fact, they only served to make him relax. Alex was used to the condescending glares and the questioning gazes. As the bastard son of a whore, Alex fought to prove everyone wrong. His life was a constant plight of one fight after the next, one competition to win before another, and one continuous crowd to please. Therefore, the seemingly challenging scowls from the other walkers only served to sooth his nerves. If this was the worst that New York City had to offer, Alex would definitely be able to survive. 

 

Continuing down the street, Alex once again lost himself in the doubts that swirled around his brain like smoke captured by the wind. He let himself drown in the uncertainty of his place in America, and more specifically, his place on a team with other talented (probably more so) athletes. Athletics in Nevis were never important and were far from the greatest concern on anyone’s mind, so there was the possibility that the Island’s greatest was America’s worst. There was a chance that Alex was just a PR stunt: the nineteen-year-old orphan victim of a hurricane who was graciously adopted by the great George Washington, a retired Olympian. 

 

Alex pushed these thoughts from his mind. If he were truly bad, he would not have been scouted from a tiny island in the Caribbean, forgotten by the rest of the world. He would not be paid to join the United States’ team, and he certainly would not receive such a generous pension for boarding and food. If he were just a publicity stunt, he would not have qualified for the international competition after painstakingly sweeping first place in his local, then regional competitions. Even if he were embarrassingly awful compared to his new teammates, he would learn to be better. He could push himself. He refused to throw away his shot at a new and successful life. A relaxed and happy life. 

 

Taking the final turn needed to bring him in front of the world famous Valley Forge of George Washington, Alex slowed his pace until he was an immovable statue. His posture was as carved as marble, his fingers once again anchored to his bag as they dug into the strap. Alex surveyed the building’s brick outside. He took in the bright green ivy vines that seemed to glow in the bright August light, the individual leaves rustling in the soft breeze that also caressed his hair as it brushed against his shoulders. At the gentle brush, Alexander Hamilton drew his body to his full stature and drew in a deep breath. After rolling his shoulders and dismissing the nervous rustle in his chest, he carefully took a step forward and pushed past the elegant glass door into the frigid cool of the gym. 

 

In, out.

**Author's Note:**

> +10 points if you can guess what sport Alex plays (people from the gc don't count :) )  
> +100 points if you can guess who the roomates are ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


End file.
